


You Only Live Nine Times

by KJGooding



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Holodecks/Holosuites, James Bond References, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJGooding/pseuds/KJGooding
Summary: Julian Bashir orders a new holoprogram from the Fleming estate, and proceeds to have all of his very high expectations dashed.  Except, curiously, his backburner dream of a date with two of his favorite companions at the same time.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Ezri Dax/Elim Garak, very lightly - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	You Only Live Nine Times

Julian took long, determined strides from the shipping bay down the Promenade, with his latest acquisition tucked away in an envelope under his arm. A passing observer might have assumed he was on his way to the Infirmary with an imported medication, based on his speed and the look of satisfaction on his face. 

But then, at the last splintered spoke of the pathway, he veered toward Quark’s Bar, instead. The place had a sense of familiarity - Julian was reluctant to call a bar ‘ _ home _ ,’ though - and it also offered the easy and inexpensive option of letting him use his newest purchase right away. It was a holosuite program in private data-rod format, specially programmed and hand delivered for his use. Of course, he could have downloaded thousands of options instantly from the extensive catalogue Quark kept, but this one was unique. Out of respect and love for the stories, he had reached out to distant relatives and estate-keepers of several of his favorite authors, and ensured he had their blessing before requesting an interactive script for another  _ James Bond  _ program.

He could plug it in  _ right then and there _ , if he wanted to. Quark always kept a suite open for him, for a nominal fee Julian had little understanding of - and took care of with bar tabs and dart rentals, anyway. He could go right in and discover the program he had waited months to receive… 

Playing alongside computerized partners was not nearly as fun or unpredictable as inviting his friends, however. For Julian, any prewritten mysteries were usually fairly simple to unravel, and he would have to spend whatever time he had not used on the plot to take in the historical details of the program before it expired. There was nothing wrong with admiring a particular pattern of trendy wallpaper or the recreated taste of Merlot from different vintages, but it was certainly more interesting with a companion at his side. 

He could hear Ezri at the bar before he could see her. She was laughing at one of Quark’s jokes to indulge him, and drinking the  _ raktajino  _ she ordered over ice, to help dilute the taste. Julian watched her do this for a few seconds before abruptly turning his head to the other side, hoping he would not be caught, afraid of making her uncomfortable. But the sudden motion caught Ezri’s attention more than the subtle look had, and she called out for him to join her. 

“I wasn’t waiting on anyone,” she said, explaining away the empty barstool beside her. “Come here. Are you hungry?”

“Oh no, no. Thank you. I was thinking about using a holosuite… I can get dinner with that, if I want it.”

“Oh…” she echoed, always trying to get a better sense of herself. “Were you going to Vic’s again? I don’t know how he does it, but the food’s pretty good there. Or maybe it’s awful, and I just don’t know what Earth food is supposed to taste like…?”

“No… I’m not going to Vic’s. And yes… or  _ no _ , his place does have a good buffet, you’re right.” 

He leaned in closer, watching Ezri add more ice from a pitcher into her cup of coffee, calmly picking up each cube and squeezing it in her hand. He thought she was fascinating,  _ magnificent _ , and the ideal companion for his adventure. When he addressed her, it was in the whisper of a conspirator, and Ezri had to wonder what part of the joke she had not been let in on. 

“It’s a  _ James Bond _ program, actually,” Julian said. 

Ezri glanced over his shoulder, then turned to look over her own. 

“Who?”

“Those spy programs I’ve always liked,” he said, gesturing with one hand in vague illustration. “I wrote to the original author’s family, and got permission to use the name. It’s always been kind of… loosely based on them, in the past, but this is the  _ real thing _ .”

“Oh,” Ezri did a good job of sounding excited. “That’ll be great! I hope you have fun.”

Julian reckoned with himself over what to say next. True, his once constant practice of teasing Dax had dwindled over the years, but if Ezri was having a hard time re-making friends, why should he make it worse?

“I was wondering if you, er… wanted to join me?” he said. “I wasn’t  _ waiting on anyone _ . I’ve been…”

He braced himself for the inevitable question which would follow, by smiling a perfectly charming smile and then aiming it down at the floor. 

“...meaning to ask you out. I thought we had such a nice time at Vic’s, even if we were only sort of pretending to be together, and I-- you look like you could do with a nice relaxing evening.”

There was a pause, barely three seconds long, but it felt eternal as Julian lifted his head again, and met Ezri’s gaze. 

“I just ordered dinner,” she said, apologetically. “Maybe another time…? I mean, you seemed like you were really excited about it; I wouldn’t want to slow you down.”

“I somewhat  _ like  _ being slowed down,” Julian insisted, tipping his head to one side. “I use the holosuites to unwind, and it’s always much more fun with a, um,  _ partner _ . But that’s alright, maybe I’ll just--”

“Oh!” Ezri exclaimed, and if Julian had not been so familiar with her species, he would have thought it was the temperature of the ice cube in her hand that had overwhelmed her. “You should invite Garak! He had an appointment this morning, and we got to talking about his, um…”

She trailed off and sighed, and brought one hand up, showing her palm and then waving it dismissively. It was a lot of work, readjusting to which facts and personalities were hers to share as gifts from past hosts, and which were entrusted to her by patients. Especially a patient as unpredictable, fragile, and desperately in need as Garak. 

“He could use some recognition,” Ezri settled on giving a summary, rather than the details of their session. “I can understand where he’s coming from… feeling like we’re all just using him. He could definitely benefit from a relaxing evening. And a spy program! That might be fun; I bet he’d love it.”

Julian began to show his hand in the same way, but then felt as though his arm was deflating. He dropped his hand to his side and then slid off of the barstool, remaining stooped to Ezri’s level only long enough to finish the thought. 

“I bet he would, too,” he said flatly.

***

The initial excitement of the new program fizzled away after the first refusal, leaving Julian feeling depressed but prepared for a second one. He almost felt better upon stumbling past Garak’s shop and seeing it already closed for the evening. A game of make believe was not worth bothering Garak about after hours, so Julian shrugged off the unfortunate circumstances and went to bed.

However jaded he had become by war and the betrayal of his genetic background, he still had a youthful, serendipitous spark to him. When he awoke the next morning, he did not feel like anyone had turned him down. He felt invincible, and he took the data rod along with him to make the invitation, hopeful it would be acted on immediately. 

Well. 

Garak soon captured that spirit, then strangled it. 

He greeted Julian politely, declaring him the first customer of the day. Julian amended this, explaining he had come with a gift and not an order, and Garak eyed him suspiciously. 

“I’m afraid I have little interest in your spy parodies, Doctor,” Garak deduced, without another word. 

“ _ What _ ,” said Julian, surprised at himself for not expecting this kind of thing, after so many years of associating with this particular Cardassian. 

He tucked the data rod into his inner uniform pocket, smoothing it down against his undershirt. 

“Satirical theater productions are very much an acquired taste,” Garak went on, “and one I have not kept up since my youth on Cardassia. Oh, I was part of a  _ dreadfully  _ low class then, Doctor. You would not have cared to give me the time of day, had we met back  _ then _ .”

Garak was keeping his face hidden from Julian’s line of view, ducking at opprotune moments behind a dress form, then tugging at the half-finished silk robe it was wearing to obscure his expressions even further. Julian could never rely solely on vocal tone to make an interpretation, and nor could Garak ever make his meaning  _ obvious _ . 

“Where’s all this coming from?” Julian asked, trying unsuccessfully to peer past the dress form’s articulated shoulder. “It isn’t satire or parody. James Bond stories are more… affectionate… indulgent.”

“I’d best be left out of programs like  _ that _ , as well, Doctor,” Garak said, picking away a stray thread with one of his sharp claws. “I do recall the last one you invited me to, years ago, and I was left with the uncomfortable impression that I was in the way of your romantic pursuits.”

“This is a different story, Garak, it’s... never mind, sorry. I’m sorry for trying to do you a favor.”

Garak’s auditory scales prickled up at words like  _ that _ . 

“A favor, Doctor? I thought that was a phrase best defined by the person  _ requesting  _ it. If I may do so…?” he paused, and finally looked up to meet Julian’s eyes. 

“Sure, what is it,” Julian replied tersely. 

“If this program can wait until the week is out, I’d enjoy the chance to work on an appropriate costume for you. At the very least, I’m sure - what was the term? - that lovely  _ tuxedo _ of yours could use some alteration. And I  _ do _ like having something to keep my hands occupied, while I’m trapped in here listening to encoded messages all day…”

“I’ll send it over,” Julian said, running his hand through his hair, unsure of how he felt. 

“I’m  _ sure  _ you can find someone to accompany you, given a week’s time,” Garak smiled. “You should know better than to put  _ all  _ of your faith in me, by now.z

Julian tried to do two things at once. Generally, he was managing dozens of thoughts and casual calculations, but to pare down to two took great effort. If anyone could watch him making these decisions, he hoped it would be seen as a sign of respect. 

First, he tried to piece together Garak’s appointment with Ezri. He hoped there was no lingering hostility, but it seemed Garak was in a worse mood for self-deprecation than ever. Of course, he was coming to accept his illustrious past now as a failed one, his refined skills now a list of criminal acts, and Julian could understand those feelings all too well.

Second, he tried to shove this whole encounter aside. It was a poor attempt, made in the wrong tone entirely. He should have sympathized, rather than imposed himself. Garak was right: a favor could not be done by force.

“Garak,” he said, in a much softer voice, “I’m sorry. Genuinely, I am.”

Julian approached the table where Garak was working, leaning on the smooth countertop with one arm and fishing blindly for trim for the satin robe with the other, never taking his eyes off of the dress form. With hesitation Julian had not felt in many years, he placed his own arm on the table, too. He hoped this would be perceived as friendly, not overbearing.

“Ezri thought it might be good for you to try,” Julian said calmly. “I know you tend to focus on one thing until you feel it’s finished - that’s not a  _ bad  _ trait, not at all - and… well, why not practice breaking a few made-up codes in a perfectly safe - and maybe at times, yes,  _ silly  _ \- setting.”

Garak set down the spool of ribbon he was experimenting with, but whether it was because he decided against the pattern or in favor of Julian’s proposal, Julian could not tell. 

“I’ll have your tuxedo back to you by the end of the week,” Garak said. 

Julian raised his brows, opened his mouth, prepared to speak--

“Along with an answer,” Garak interrupted, and that was exactly what Julian wanted to hear. 

More or less. 

***

During this - and despite it being late morning by the station’s approximation - Ezri was deep asleep. Quark’s replicators were almost always operating at acceptable health standards, but many of Ezri’s new memories did not agree in all practicality with her palate, frequently leaving her with an upset stomach. So, she spent a few hours trying to settle down for bed, sipping a soothing tea and thinking about her interaction with Julian. 

A shred of this fell through the grate which otherwise confined her dreams to sleeping. She bolted upright in her bed, and mumbled to herself. 

“That was supposed to be a  _ date _ .”

She untangled herself from the covers, then tried to remember exactly which set of pajamas she was wearing before realizing she had fallen asleep in her regulation undershirt. That made it easier to get dressed, at least, and she went to find the rest of her uniform, still feeling vaguely nauseous as she dug through her closet for her suit and then scrambled along the floor for her badge. She remembered dropping it the previous night and not feeling well enough to kneel and collect it again. 

By the time she was dressed to regulation standards, she had no desire left to look in the mirror. She tousled her hair with one hand and then moved toward the front door. 

The corridor outside was lit to daytime program levels, and as Ezri walked toward the exit of the habitat ring, she traced her finger in circles over her badge, not initiating a communication until she was ready. She could see the halls were empty, and she could practice exactly what she wanted to say before clearing her throat and finally pressing the button to start a message manually. 

“Counselor Dax to Doctor Bashir,” she began, thinking she sounded more than adequately composed. 

“Bashir here… is something wrong?”

“Wow, I must really sound out of it.”

“Well, ordinarily, I don’t receive calls unless someone needs, you know... a  _ doctor _ .”

Ezri thought he sounded nervous, and sweet, and maybe only slightly let down by their last meeting. She could work with that. 

“I just wanted to see  _ you _ ,” she explained. “I felt bad about last night, and then I felt  _ bad _ last night, and I’m… are you at the Infirmary? I can meet you there in a few minutes.” 

“Yes. That sounds like a good idea.”

They met as promised, drawing the curtains shut around one of the biobeds even though all Julian needed to provide was a pair of hyposprays: one to calm Ezri’s stomach and the other to calm her nerves. 

“There,” he said, taking a chance and patting her arm. “That should sort you out in no time. Was that… all you wanted to  _ see me  _ about?”

“Thanks,” she replied, touching her arm in the same place after he had withdrawn his hand. “Um, no, actually. I felt bad about last night; I didn’t mean to cut you off like that. I’d love to go check out that program, if you didn’t already use it.”

“Oh! No, I haven’t yet, actually,” he mimicked her, she smiled at him, and the cycle continued. “I  _ did  _ go to ask Garak about it, like you suggested, but of course he was… well, he was  _ Garak… _ about the whole thing.”

“You mean evasive?”

“A bit. He offered to fix up a costume for me, but I don’t think he wants to go. Unless he prefers to show up unannounced, like last time.”

Ezri sprang up from the biobed, trying her best to straighten the blanket for its next use before Julian reached over her and removed it completely, to be laundered. She gave him a flimsy smile; she felt nervous. Jadzia may have played games with him for years, and he always expected a certain, almost exciting amount of resistance from her. But Ezri was not Jadzia, and she thought it might be fun to let such a known people-pleaser have the chance to prove himself. There was no harm in trying a holosuite program together, and seeing what it might lead to. She would even have the identity of a character to lean on, in case she struggled to summon her own in time. It sounded like a perfect first date. 

“I’ll go with you,” she said. “If he doesn’t want to play, that’s his loss.”

***

The events following this - and preceding the holosuite event itself - took turns making Julian excited and confused. 

Ezri began asking about the characters, and Julian was forced to admit he had only read the most basic summary of the program, hoping to keep it fresh when he finally entered the story. But, eager to oblige the request of a new partner, he consulted the data-rod and had character cards printed from his home replicator, so Ezri could read through the playable characters at her leisure. 

Then, when she had found a few she particularly liked, she asked Julian’s opinion on an aspect of Garak’s personality, which Julian thought was interesting. And, by ‘interesting,’ he meant it did not make any sense at all. 

“Do you think he’d mind making a costume for me, too?” Ezri asked. 

It was two days before the program was scheduled for play, and Ezri had taken to following Julian home along the Promenade. As a fellow medical professional, her office was located only a few doors down from the Infirmary, and she loved to stop by and see him when her appointments were finished for the day. They could chat comfortably, having been at least  _ some  _ degree of friends for seven years - and that fact could now be complemented by their newly shared areas of study and expertise. 

Garak’s troubled existence came up as a topic perhaps more frequently than Julian wanted it to, and it was a poor replacement for Garak himself, who Julian realized had been meeting with him  _ less  _ frequently over the previous few years. It was a relationship he wanted to mend, and he was not sure whether Ezri’s question was a step in that same direction.

“As far as I know, he’s never refused a commission, no matter who it’s coming from,” Julian replied. “But we can go and ask this evening, if you’d like.”

Julian wanted to be included in any interaction Garak might take favorably, so he passed on his instructions to the overnight crew several minutes ahead of schedule, so he and Ezri could catch Garak at his shop before it closed. He did not bother bringing the  _ Bond  _ program on data rod, but Ezri happily took her whole collection of character cards along on the trip. The characters had some leeway in their physical description, and no illustrations whatsoever, but she still wanted to be able to offer  _ something  _ for Garak to base his designs on. 

“Oh, did you decide on one?” Julian asked, gesturing down at the cards Ezri was shuffling through her hands as they walked. He could not help but oversee whatever she was doing, but he tried to make this known casually; he did not want to seem like he was taking advantage purely because he was taller. 

“There are a few that sound really interesting,” she said, turning and smirking back up at him. 

“Hmm,” Julian sighed happily. “Bond was known for his, er…  _ variety _ of female companions. But I had the computer leave the option of gender up to the player. It wouldn’t bother me, either way.”

“I appreciate that.”

Julian returned the smile, mumbled something about being grateful they were  _ not  _ playing on Earth several centuries ago, and then rounded the corner to Garak’s shop. 

Garak was visible through the front window, preening on behalf of one of the mannequins on display. He was adjusting its wefts of artificial hair beneath a felt hat he had designed, then raising a decorative scarf along its neck. He paused upon seeing his visitors, and sprinted to the door to usher them both inside. 

“Good evening, Doctor, Counselor,” he said, and Julian winced at the formality. 

“Hello, Garak,” Ezri was unfazed. “I know it’s last minute… maybe you could alter something you already have made… but I was wondering if we could add a costume to Julian’s order for this weekend?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Garak said, meeting Julian’s eyes with certainty. “Perhaps… you would not mind adding a player, then, too.”

Julian stood there quietly, trying to blink everything into focus, watching as his date with Ezri and his attempt to repair his relationship with Garak began to overlap. 

Ezri went over to Garak with the character cards, and before Julian could think of a question to ask, the two of them were comparing traits and discussing designs, and Julian felt almost left out of his own program. 

“And you’re leaning toward this one, Counselor?” Garak asked, giving one of the cards a tap. “May I ask why?”

“Well, this says they wear a lot of spots,” she replied, giggling to herself. “And they rely on several different identities to complete their objectives. I think I can prepare for  _ that _ .”

“Very good. But then, for myself?” Garak asked, skimming through the rest of the deck. “None of these seem quite appropriate, if I’m expected to believably adapt to one as my cover identity. That  _ is _ how the game is played, isn’t it?”

“You mean you… want to get into character?” Julian asked, feeling suddenly charmed. “I haven’t read through them, myself - I wanted it to be a surprise - but I’m sure we can find so—”

“This one,” Ezri easily decided, plucking out a card from the back of the deck. “This was my second choice, but I think you’ll have an easier time  _ adapting _ .” 

Garak traced his finger over the typed words, reading them out in his best Standard accent. 

“Wrongfully convicted criminal, recently freed and signed on to MI6 to redeem themself…”

“That’s the British intelligence agency,” Julian explained. 

“...or perhaps to seek revenge. Now, Counselor, why would  _ that _ remind you of me?” 

“Keep going,” she encouraged. 

“Balancing criminal insight with practical code-breaking experience, they strive to teach Bond that things are not all as they seem.” Garak broke his gaze from the card and moved it to Ezri, instead. “Why, how  _ thoughtful _ . I don’t foresee any problems ‘getting into character’ at all.”

“Very good,” said Julian. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

He left the two of them alone to compare notes and strategies, and to trade the summaries Julian had given each of them about the genre itself. It delighted him to hear them agree it was to be both serious and affectionate, with costumes to match. 

With a quiet wave he excused himself from the shop completely. His first impression was to feel jealous, seeing a friend choose to spend time with someone else over  _ his _ program. But then he realized these were  _ both _ his friends, and they were choosing to spend time preparing for something all of them could enjoy. Garak might find practical use in his character’s biography, and Ezri might see her predicament as powerful - if not relaxing as Julian hoped - having so many new identities at her disposal.

And a combination like that would  _ certainly  _ make the story unpredictable - unpredictable and  _ fun _ .

***

Julian first arrived at the holosuite alone, wearing the tuxedo Garak had kindly altered for him. Garak’s work could be beautiful and subtle, Julian had to admit, as he caught sight of Garak’s signature embroidered into the silk interior, gilded ribbon peeking through the creases of the cummerbund, polished buttons replacing all of the worn ones. Julian almost felt bad for keeping it stuffed in his wardrobe for so long, but then realized it was disuse which gave Garak a point to work from. It was the same with one’s mind, wasn’t it? 

Then he tried to put  _ Garak  _ out of mind, and Ezri too; all of them were here to represent characters from a series Julian had loved since his youth, bringing to life an untold story. A new chapter set in centuries past. 

Julian began the game in his character’s apartment in London, a familiar enough setting which the computer had built for him many times. There was a circular bed in the center of the room, neatly made with the finest linen. He also knew where to find his cache of weapons, a phone and video screen for contemporary communications, a cabinet of fine liqueurs…

He heard soft, padding footsteps on the carpet behind him, and as soon as he turned, he ruled out one of the playable characters from Ezri and Elim’s selections. He had not read the cards himself, nor asked for their names, but he had a good understanding of the usual players in a  _ Bond  _ piece. This must have been his assistant, however unprofessionally she was dressed. 

“Will you be needing anything else before you go, Mr. Bond?” the hologram asked. 

Julian looked past the low-cut red dress and black lace choker she wore around her neck; when he cast his eyes toward the floor, he saw she was wearing a matching pair of garters, and he wondered just how open-ended her proposition was. 

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” he said, mercifully distracted by a blinking light on his communication screen. “Have you been monitoring this, er…?”

“Calista,” the woman giggled at him. “You must’ve said it a dozen times last night.”

“Quite,” shrugged Julian, giving the light his full attention. 

“It’s been flashing non-stop since the shuttle launch,” Calista finally began to give her preprogrammed explanation, helping Julian find his place in the adventure. “But I’m afraid all of the messages are in different languages, and once translated, they still appear to be written in code.”

“I see,” said Julian. “You do speak multiple languages, I assume.”

“Eight,” said Calista. “But there are  _ nine  _ messages, so far. Can you make sense of these, Mr. Bond?”

He could hear her approaching, then he could  _ feel  _ her leaning against his back, resting her chin on his head and using one finger to point at the different digital folders on the computer screen. 

“I’ve never seen symbols like this,” Calista noted, clicking one of the folders open and displaying the message. 

“I have,” Julian said, scooting as far forward as the rolling chair and heavy desk allowed. Despite the added distance - barely any at all, really - he could still feel Calista’s breasts against his back, and he had to give the computer some recognition for its realistic re-creation, if not the character’s sense of boundary. 

“They look… almost like animal print?” Calista said, swirling one manicured fingernail over the screen while Julian tried to ignore her. 

Julian kept the final detail to himself: they were  _ Trill spots _ . But he did not know how the foreign word might factor into the program, or if this strange occurance meant Ezri was playing the villain, and was allowed some creative freedom with her infiltration methods. He wanted to proceed carefully, to maintain the authenticity of the game. 

“I think you’re right, Calista,” Julian chose merely to agree. “Perhaps… leopard, if I’m not mistaken…”

“But I wouldn’t know where to  _ begin _ with translating it!” Calista said, moving her hand away from the console and instead bringing it to gently massage Julian’s scalp. “They’re dispatching an expert from Headquarters. He’s been in a Soviet prison for ten years… there were claims he broke a Japanese code during the--”

“Did Headquarters provide the man’s name, dear?” Julian asked, hoping the endearment would get him an answer more quickly. 

“I believe so… yes, here it is,” Calista said, inexplicably removing a leatherbound journal from her bra and flipping to one of the back pages. “Mr. Lilas. You must’ve heard about him…?”

“Lilas?” Julian suppressed a chuckle. “I have, yes. Good and bad.”

“Then I’ll get the limousine ready, Mr. Bond. He should be arriving from the airport any minute now.”

Julian did not remark about the convenient timing; he was grateful for Calista to have a good reason to leave him alone. Without her bracing against his back, he had an easier time of studying the computer console, leaning under the desk and finding the disks and data ports necessary for him to download the coded files. When this process was complete, he slid the disk out of the console and into the pocket Garak had thoughtfully lined inside his jacket. 

His knowledge of the genre left him tensed for sudden action and turmoil, but the limousine ride was fairly straightforward. Calista was a competent driver, even if she left the partition open and looked over her shoulder to talk to Julian at every single set of traffic lights. Curiously, he found a foldaway ice chest filled with more liqueurs, presumably just below the standard required to be kept on display in Bond’s house. There was also a pulp paper notepad and bottle of invisible ink, a kit for detecting liquid poisons, and a tin of shoe polish. Julian wondered which of these were placed there intentionally, out of service to the plot, and he considered stuffing everything he could carry into the freshly reinforced pockets throughout his suit, but he ultimately decided against it. 

They had arrived at the airport reception terminal, and he did not want to stumble out of the car juggling bottles of alcohol and slippery shoe polish. Calista gradually came to a stop at the gate, and Julian rolled down his window, trying to look for Garak’s character discreetly.

Almost all of the disembarking passengers were dressed in formal wear, but Julian knew only one of them would be Cardassian. When he finally spotted Garak - wearing a boldly patterned maroon suit and with his hair slicked to one side to match his computerized contemporaries - he stuck his hand out the window and used it to gesture inward. There was something handsome about him, Julian thought, and he did not seem the least bit uncomfortable with his foreign surroundings. Taking a chance, he whistled to catch Garak’s attention - the underlying Human expression of attraction intended to whistle completely over his well-groomed head - but Calista disapproved. 

“Don’t you want to check him out  _ before  _ he gets into the car?” Calista suggested. “Prison can change a man.”

Julian quirked his brow at this, with Calista turning to peer through the partition just in time to see and shake her head. She pulled down the sunshade to obscure her posture from passersby, and leaned over while reaching into her bra again. Julian did not know what to say,  _ especially  _ when the gesture ended in Calista handing him a compact revolver. 

“His might be better hidden than  _ that _ ,” Calista gave a more confusing explanation. “Best to be safe, Mr. Bond.”

“You didn’t have this one while we were, um… I mean, last night, were you wearing--?” Julian began, trying to gain some basis for his character’s relationship. 

“Always,” grinned Calista. Then she checked the front window, leaned over, and displayed a knife tucked into a sheath against her garter. 

“But you know I wouldn’t betray you,” Julian insisted.

“I do; they aren’t for  _ you _ ,” she hummed in a low tone. “But I keep them close in case of intruders. Now, think from Mr. Lilas’s perspective for a moment…”

Julian could see Garak approaching, his forehead almost reaching the gap in the window glass. In a rush, Julian threw the car door open and took hold of Garak’s hand. The motion began as a professional handshake but quickly tightened to grappling, and Julian’s superior strength allowed him to shut the car door again, and twist Garak around to lean against it with his chest. 

Julian spoke quietly into Garak’s ear. 

“Sorry about this,” he said. “All part of the game…”

While he held Garak against the car, he used his other hand to pat Garak’s back, smooth out his sleeves, reach just beneath the waistband of his trousers…

“I’m not here to play games, Mr. Bond,” Garak said, without breaking a whisper. “Is this how you treat all of your guests?”

Julian was surprised to see Garak so deeply invested in his character. He withdrew and helped Garak get into the car, where Garak produced a thin vial from inside his own tailored waistcoat. 

“This is all I have to show you, Mr. Bond,” Garak said. “And it poses  _ you _ no threat.”

Garak offered the vial in both flat palms, a gesture of trust and willingness to cooperate. Julian took the silent invitation to inspect it, reading microscopic measurement lines along the side and tracing the smooth closure with his finger. 

“As you can see,” Garak went on, “there is no needle, no plunger. It is lethal only if consumed orally, and it is molded to be broken by my teeth, alone.”

“Cyanide?” Julian asked. 

Calista put the vehicle in drive and pulled away from the airport gate, while Garak closed the partition and then nodded. 

“My greatest ally in that prison cell,” Garak confirmed. “Oh, I had no desire to use it, but it helped guarantee my…  _ questioning  _ sessions ran smoothly, at precisely the length I wanted them to. I have no shame in admitting I came to enjoy them, and I could show the vial to remind my captors that I could take all of my precious secrets with me, if ever I felt they pushed me too hard…”

“Why on earth would they let you keep it, if they knew you had it?”

Garak tutted his tongue and shook his head, then faced Julian straight on. 

“I have a few friends on both sides, Mr. Bond,” he said. “I’d like to see you become one of them.”

As they drove onward, Garak made himself at home with the vehicle’s provisions, finding a comb and handheld mirror in an overhead compartment, then opening the cabinet of alcohol and browsing through his options. Meticulously, he guided his hair against the grain with his fingers then tried to smooth it with the comb. He nodded approval at his reflection, stowed the comb and mirror away, and then pulled a long-stem glass from the liquor cabinet. 

“You seem very comfortable,  _ Mr. Lilas,”  _ Julian observed. 

“Another side effect of incarceration,” Garak explained, using a small bottle of Prosecco to fill his glass. “I must admit I am accustomed to constantly changing scenery, and I know to take advantage of whatever rare comforts might be offered to me.” 

“I see.”

“Now… explain this absurd errand you’re taking me on, Mr. Bond.”

Julian found it thrilling - and a bit overwhelming - for Garak to remain set in his role like this. He cleared his throat and thought about what to say, and he realized how little attention he had given the plot. He should have looked for clues all around his apartment, pressed Calista for more details, even called his employer to request a mission briefing. 

But, all in all, he decided he did not mind. It was fun to wade his way through with his friends - or at least one of them, so far. He recalled having a guess at Ezri’s identity, too, so he finally answered Garak’s question. 

“We know that a space shuttle disappeared,” he explained, feeling breathless with excitement, “and we have a set of nine messages from foreign agencies concerning its whereabouts, but they’re all written in code. My assistant and I were able to translate eight of them, but they still read as nonsense, and the ninth is completely beyond comprehension. We need to go right to the source; the space shuttle headquarters it originated from.”

“So you’re,” Garak said slowly, “only interested in my services as a code breaker. Nothing more?”

Garak had taken to touching his face, mimicking a nervous human habit, brushing his fingers along his jawline and looking away when Julian confronted him. There was a certain amount of playfulness, there… a certain suggestive quality—

Julian reached for Garak’s hand, and touched it softly. 

“I would not be opposed to more,” Julian said sincerely, surprised when Garak did not break contact. 

“Well. We will see if that proves wise, Mr. Bond. I am not an easy man to sway.” 

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

***

“Now, you’re quite sure  _ this  _ is where the final code was sent from?” Garak asked, as the limousine pulled up to the electric fence of what seemed to be a military base. 

It was outfitted to appropriate Earth standards of the time, although Julian could not understand any of the symbols or markings on the equipment they drove past. There were lines of tanks, ballistic missiles poised on metal scaffolding until they could be launched, open-topped cases of ammunition displayed only to spark fear in all who saw them. Everything was painted in camouflage tones to match their natural surroundings - sand and gray stones and thin, dark treetrunks, starved of water. Julian could not tell what country this was supposed to be. His apartment was situated in Hong Kong, and Calista had only driven them to the airport and onward… they had not needed a boat or plane. Admittedly, his grasp of Earth history was shaky at best, but the flora did not seem to fit in with what he expected. 

“This is the, er… this is the space center, I believe, yes,” Julian faltered, but finally answered Garak’s question. 

Garak had been staring at him expectantly, patting the pocket in his own suit where his vial of poison was stored. 

“This is more than a  _ space center _ , Mr. Bond,” Garak corrected, tutting the forked edges of his reptilian tongue. “There are weapons being developed here that you could hardly  _ dream of _ , all tucked away under the guise of national security.”

“You knew where we were going all along?” Julian posed, unsure of what tone to use. 

“You told me as soon as you finished patting me down, Mr. Bond,” Garak said coarsely. “Please. Try to focus on the task at hand. How are we going to get in there?”

“It sounded as though you knew some of the key players,  _ Mr. Lilas _ .”

Garak demurred. 

“I’ve been away from the field several years,” he said. “But perhaps, with a decent cover…”

He tapped the scalloped partition several times with the back of his hand - softly, but sufficiently to get their driver’s attention. 

“Pardon me, dear, but would you mind turning around and parking just behind that first vehicle?” Garak said smoothly. “We want them to know we mean business.”

As directed, Calista swerved and brought the car to a stop behind the first in a long line of tanks, while Garak leaned in to conspire with Julian. Without much prompting at all, Garak supplied a story about Julian being a foreign dignitary, interested in coming to an alliance with the nations represented by this weapons program. He could not elaborate on which nations, however, instead asking Julian - never dropping his role - to provide the appropriate names. 

Julian was able to list a few of the historical players he knew appeared frequently in Bond stories - Russia, Japan, the United Kingdom, the United States. He trailed off, thought more studiously, and finally assigned Sudan to his cover identity; then he asked Garak exactly what role  _ he  _ intended to play in this fact-finding errand. 

“Oh, you go ahead,” Garak insisted. “I’ll be in a bit later if you find yourself… struggling.”

He peeled his hand away from the pocket where his vial of cyanide was stowed, choosing instead to give Julian a reassuring pat on the chest. Julian stared down at him, overwhelmed and enticed, swallowing hard as he stumbled from the backseat and made his way toward the gated entrance. 

Surveillance cameras were clearly visible along the perimeter of the military base, posted upon bayonets, dangling from exposed wires in the shack roofs, wedged into gaps in the barbed wire fencing. Intentionally, he peered into each one he passed, amplifying his persona as a fearless Head of State. In reality, he was armed only with the cover story Garak had all-too-eagerly crafted for him; he had not even brought his trademark compact revolver. But it was a game, after all, and he knew he could stop the program to ask for any details he felt he was lacking. Had he not been paying close enough attention? Surely Garak was not  _ that  _ distracting in his vintage Earth fashion, no matter how neatly it contrasted with his skin, no matter how soft his feathery hair looked despite the period-appropriate gel, no matter how thoroughly Garak had been able to delve into his character despite Julian’s own struggles. How  _ odd _ , how--

He cleared his throat as he reached the entrance, glaring at a speaker with an intercom button, no video screen. As he reached for the button, he heard the speaker crackling from the other side of the connection, and then he was met with Ezri’s voice. 

“Come in,” she said, trying to add a depth her youthful voice otherwise lacked - Julian wondered if she was going for  _ sultry _ . “I’ve been expecting you.”

Since she could not see him - not directly, anyway, but perhaps from a distant security camera - he allowed himself to smile. This would certainly be a fun encounter. 

With a loud buzz, the intercom switched off and the gate slowly wheeled itself open, granting Julian access. He found a holographic character approaching him, and had to squint to be sure the program was not malfunctioning. Their outline was fuzzy and pale blue, almost iridescent as they walked through the programmed sunlight. When they got closer, Julian could see the unmistakable pattern of Trill spots running down the side of their face, diving deep into the confines of their business suit. They lifted their hand and briefly bit at their fingernails, overcome by some nervous compulsion, before shoving their hand into their pocket and then drawing it out again to gesture toward a particular wing of the building. 

“This way, Sir,” the character said, in a deep but quiet voice. 

“Thank you, Mr…?”

“Just Tobin, please, Sir,” the character rushed to reply. 

“Tobin - right, yes - of course. Thank you, Tobin,” Julian said, smile shrinking away, only to be replaced by perplexion. 

Tobin’s outline crackled in and out of view as he led Julian through the corridors to the very back of the building. It was dimly lit, the walls were fortified with stone bricks, but he could still see and hear well enough; this was a theory he tested by staring continuously at Tobin and posing questions so he could hear the man’s voice. He wondered if there was some underlying issue with the program, causing the image quality to be inconsistent… he was fairly sure Tobin Dax himself was prone to stuttering, so Julian could not tell what was wrong. 

“I’m uh-- _ afraid  _ we won’t have much opportunity to converse,” Tobin abruptly replied, coming to a stop at the end of the hall. “This is who you’ll want to speak with.”

“She asked for me,” Julian playfully reminded him. 

Tobin forced a laugh but still turned and walked the opposite way, leaving Julian alone to knock at the door. There was an engraved gold plaque - bearing the name  _ Leah Perd  _ \- with a jewel-eyed leopard, holding an ebony ring between its teeth for Julian to knock with. Julian chuckled to himself and made use of it, enjoying the solid sound of the door. It must have been made to withstand fires, bullets, and all manner of things stronger than his curiosity. 

Like the gate, the door unlocked under the cover of a loud buzzing sound, then slowly swung open. Julian stepped inside, finding himself face to face with Ezri, who was sitting at a desk in front of yet another heavy door. 

Together, she and Garak must have taken studious notes on the era’s fashion. From her seated position, Julian could see the effort she had taken to add volume and curl to each short weft of her hair, sprayed until gleaming, and crisply held in place. She was wearing an appropriate formal shirt - gentle lavender with the tiniest white diamonds adding some shimmer each time she moved - and a smart waistcoat, gold and slate leopard print, large and bold. On her collar she wore a lace-trimmed cravat, starched white. But then, on the front of her desk, Julian saw a nameplate that disagreed with the one on the door; it denoted Leah’s  _ PA _ . 

“Hello, Miss,” he said softly, “I’m here to see… Leah, I believe the name was. Is she available?”

“She’s right here,” Ezri replied, in the same sultry tone as before, slowly standing up from the desk. 

This was decidedly where the professionalism of her attire ended. She wore a skirt in the same leopard fabric as her vest, but it was skin-tight and cut short. Beneath it, Julian happily observed, were not fishnet stockings, but delicate  _ lace  _ stockings, revealing tempting peeks of the flaring spots which ran down from her waistline to her ankles. Julian could follow them all the way down from her thigh, at least, and only stopped himself when he felt Ezri tugging on his shirt collar. 

“ _ Sorry _ \--” she whispered, voice returning to normal, “I didn’t really want any of the Assistant characters.”

“That’s alright,” Julian assured, loosely gripping her shoulders. 

“All they do in the story is seduce you,” Ezri went on. “I didn’t get it.”

“It really does distract from the plot, doesn’t it?” he teased, making note of how close they were standing, with her hand still crawling beneath his collar. 

“Yeah, so I had to s… sorry, I’m not even following the plot right now, either.”

“Sorry?” Julian was quiet. 

“I had to seduce you, but--” she said, splaying her fingers beneath his collar, giggling nervously, “then I--"

“No, about the plot. You’re not following the plot either?”

“ _ I’m sorry _ ,” she said. “Maybe I should just say the lines instead of breaking character, I don’t want to ruin the fun, but…”

“You’re not ruining anything. Come to think of it, I was having the same problem. Granted, I haven’t been, er,” he cleared his throat, and pulled his gaze away from its unfortunate preset, well below the intimidating eye-level of his companion, “paying  _ perfect  _ attention. But the stories are usually quite straightforward, if you know the formula as well as I do.”

“I definitely don’t know the formula.”

She took a few slow steps backward, then sat on the desk, carefully crossing her legs. 

“That’s alright,” Julian assured, with genuine warmth. 

He came to sit beside her, instinctively reaching to rub her shoulder. Compelled by the pleasant, cool feeling of the smooth waistcoat fabric, he moved to the hollow between her shoulder blades, and felt the pattern of her breathing. Trill were best examined from this side, and when he focused, he could differentiate her breath and heart-rate from the softer, burbling vitals of the Dax symbiont. When she coughed, he drew his hand back abruptly.

“We can figure the story out together,” he said. “You mentioned having a scripted line to say…?”

“Kind of,” she said, before dropping her voice into the make-believe tone again, “Why would you come to see me like this, Mr. Bond? So…  _ unprotected _ .”

Julian nodded and tried to dive back into the fantasy. But why should she know his name? Maybe she was just mixed up with an upcoming development in her script. His cover story was flimsy anyway. He would be fine without it. 

“I’m here to arrange peace,” he replied. “Between my nation and yours. One of our space shuttles has disappeared. It was conducting routine research, unarmed. Since you seem to know a good deal of military secrets, Ms. Perd, I was hoping to secure your help in finding it again.”

“You think I shot it down?”

“No, not at all. I wouldn’t dream of accusing a-- _ ahem _ \- lovely young woman like yourself. But I  _ do  _ think you can help me find the responsible party. May I ask what nation-state employs you, Ms. Perd?”

“I don’t represent a single nation, Mr. Bond,” she said, coyly. Then, losing the fantasy tone again, she whispered, “ _ it didn’t say _ .”

“I see,” Julian said, remaining focused. 

“All of my work is subject to the approval of a board of representatives,” she went on, clearly improvising. “That way all of us have someone to blame, if we find ourselves in trouble.”

“Interesting.”

“ _ Is it _ ?” she whispered, again. “It did say I had multiple personalities and would sometimes blame another one, as if it was a whole different person, but--”

“Yes,” Julian said, setting his hand down on the tabletop. “I saw  _ Tobin  _ on my way in.”

“Yeah…  _ sorry _ .”

“No need to be sorry.” Julian’s eyes scanned her face to diagnose the discomfort, and then moved on to the room to find a remedy. He stopped upon discovery of a drink cabinet, marble and gold like the rest of the character’s decor. “Would you mind if I made us something nice to drink?”

Ezri smiled, and rushed to the cabinet in his stead. 

“I’m afraid I can’t give this code away for nothing,” she said, blocking Julian’s view of the lock while twisting the combination into place. 

“You aren’t saying I have nothing to offer, are you?” Julian teased. 

“We’ll see about that,” she returned, in kind. “Now… pick your poison, Mr. Bond. A martini, if I remember correctly… is that gin or vodka?”

“Both,” Julian grinned, charmed to see Ezri had done her research, even if her character was not supposed to know the first thing about his. 

She had played around in Vic’s a few times, though, so he let the peripheral knowledge of bartending slide, and watched in affectionate awe as she measured out his ingredients into a silver shaker. With a soft, ringing sound, she pulled two stemmed martini glasses from deeper inside the cabinet, and set them down on the marble counter. From even further back, she removed a pistol, and displayed it prominently between the glasses, smirking as she divided the shaken martini between both of them. 

With this done, she returned to Julian’s side at the desk, handed him his drink, and leaned in close against his side. She made a purring noise, low and rumbling in her throat, and Julian felt it against his chest and caught himself with a shiver. He took a sip of his drink. 

“Poison indeed,” he said. “Now… shall we…  _ talk _ ?”

“Anything we  _ say _ ,” she replied, patting one hand down firmly over his heart, “will be subject to approval of my board of directors, Mr. Bond.”

“The more the merrier.”

She uncrossed her legs, only to stretch one over Julian’s, digging her heel into his ankle, nearly making him yelp in surprise. She turned the single movement into a more constant massage, placing gentle pressure, and he relaxed enough to finish his drink. 

Julian set the glass aside and then reached into his inner suit pocket, fishing for one of the coded messages. He had not brought anything from inside the limousine, but mercifully he remembered to bring the little typeset scraps of paper. Or, all but one of them, it seemed. 

He must have left the Trill-spotted note in Calista’s care. Unfortunate. But he could not appear to falter, especially if Ezri was unsure of her role. 

“Here. I’ve received these, in all different languages. But even translated, they seem to be written in code. What do you make of them?”

“These were sent in response to the shuttle disappearance,” she replied, sounding slightly more sure of herself. “Different press releases on the story, perhaps?”

Julian gave them an actual appraisal; he realized he had not studied the printouts very closely, with Calista standing over him trying to provoke him into distraction. Perhaps he could place the villainess role on Calista at the end, and leave Ezri to build her confidence. 

“That may be,” he said. “But I needed to bring them to an expert, to be sure.”

“I may be able to find you one. I have connections.”

She tapped the heel of her shoe into his calf, this time, then twisted it slightly.

“Is this… all of them?” she asked, sliding over his lap before slinking off the desk and standing up, turning to the back door. 

“Well, no, actually,” Julian admitted, watching her.

“In the hands of your resident  _ expert _ , no doubt,” Ezri observed, souring her tone. 

“My valet is--” Julian began, not wholly ready to defend the character in the first place. “I’ve had my doubts, as well, but--”

“Not her.”

Ezri reached the door, and pressed her fingerprint into the wide, gold handle. It seemed to take a reading before unlocking and sliding open, revealing what was unmistakably a sauna, right there in the back of the office. Julian saw other flickering figures, outlined in pale blue, in various degrees of undress, sitting in the comfort of a warm bath. 

“These are  _ my  _ resident experts,” Ezri explained, and Julian knew she was struggling to share what her character felt while hiding what she herself had read in the biographies. “Maybe you’ll find one of them even  _ more  _ alluring.”

“Mm, I’m happy talking to you,” Julian said, not wanting to exploit her insecurity. “You don’t need their approval.”

“No, but…” Ezri trailed off into a whisper, “it said there was a massage scene. I didn’t  _ ask  _ it to put all of Dax’s past hosts in, but they don’t actually  _ know  _ anything about Dax. It just took the characters and made my multiple personalities, I guess, and I’m  _ sorry _ , if you think they’ll distract from it I can close the door and we can--”

“No, no,” Julian remained calm. “You aren’t doing anything wrong, Ezri. I’m just as confused as you are.”

“It couldn’t have done that if you weren’t playing the program with a Joined Trill!” she said, clearly upset. “I reduced the image quality, but I figured you’d still want to see them instead of just me, maybe I should’ve picked a different character, I’m--”

“There’s no reason to be sorry,” Julian assured. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

Then he paused and mulled the whole matter over, while reaching to shut the door to the sauna. The image of the other Dax hosts was not bringing Ezri any comfort. But then it occurred to him, perhaps her gaps in some aspects of the program knowledge - while being sure of his identity and set up for failure - were intentionally designed. He thought of Garak, building him a cover story and sending him in alone. Worse than that, he left Garak alone in that car with a vial of poison, cut to match his molars. It could’ve been some bizarre twist on a suicide mission, and Julian suddenly went pale. 

“Garak,” he said. “He must’ve made some modifications to your program to trip you up.”

“What? Julian, he only read them over  _ with me _ , when I asked to have a costume made.”

“He might’ve opened the program before we did. I didn’t think to check.”

“I suggested the character for him to play, Julian. Why would he have edited anything?”

“I bet he’s still upset about last time,” Julian stood and paced and raked his hand through his hair. “I mean, he had to just stand there while you and I-- I mean  _ Jadzia _ and I--”

“I remember. He’s  _ not  _ upset about that, Julian. We made our choices together, we did our research together, he showed me so many different costume designs, he wanted to do something fun  _ with  _ us…  _ I’m  _ the one getting us off track.”

“We need to make sure he’s okay,” Julian decided, already dashing for the door. 

Ezri followed him down the hall, breathlessly asking the computer to shut off all other components of the  _ Dax  _ personality. This helped to clear a nervous Tobin out of Julian’s path, giving him a clear route to the parking lot. The halls were narrow and winding, but he remembered the exact order Tobin had led him through earlier, while Ezri rushed to keep up. 

“His character has a vial of cyanide,” Julian said to her, trying to explain his desperation. “What if he’s turned off the safety protocols, too?”

Ezri sighed aloud and tossed her shoulders into a shrug, dramatic enough for Julian to see from his periphery. 

“Look, he didn’t do anything like  _ that _ . Both of us were… we--” she began. 

As the two of them turned the final corner, placing the entrance clearly in sight, they stumbled into Garak himself. He seemed relaxed, strolling slowly with his hands set casually in his front pockets, no sign of tension at all in his joints. 

“Mr. Bond…?” he asked quietly, while Julian came to a stop. 

“Garak, I’m glad you’re alright, listen--”

Garak leaned in close enough for Julian to feel Garak’s cool breath on his neck. Then, tutting that reptilian tongue, Garak put both hands gingerly on Julian’s bow-tie, tightening and straightening it to his own precise specifications. 

“There. Now, Mr. Bond, I hardly know the name G--”

“It’s alright,” Julian repeated. “The program hasn’t been making much sense, anyway. We--”

“ _ You--” _ Ezri quickly corrected.

“ _ I  _ thought maybe you’d, er… been modifying the parameters, without telling me.”

“ _ We _ ,” Ezri said, this time. “We… did.”

Julian did not know which of them to question first. 

“We both made changes,” Ezri said again, surprised and disconcerted to see Julian staying quiet.

Garak gave a sigh, overdramatic and pained and disappointed. 

“We wanted to ensure you had a nice evening,” he said. “But your skills at deduction are, apparently, only rivaled by your irritating ability to care about  _ everyone else _ , first.”

“What do you mean? You seemed like you knew every step of what was going on,” Julian explained, looking exasperated at Garak. “Even when I didn’t have a  _ clue _ . You never broke character for a second, you--”

“I have had the unfortunate experience of working undercover many times, Doctor,” Garak said. “Had I broken any sooner, I would’ve compromised our entire objective. It seems  _ Ms. Perd  _ took care of that for me.”

“Garak,” Julian sighed, “ _ I  _ thought you were trying to trip her up. She was trying to keep me on track with the plot, but I… I don’t know, it felt like there wasn’t any substance.”

“Precisely,” said Garak, turning to give Julian a pat on the back. Pressing with more force, he guided Julian into walking forward again, escorting him through the maze of corridors to Ezri’s office once more. 

Patiently, Ezri opened the front door, collected the printed codes Julian had left behind on the desk, and then pressed her fingerprint into the sauna door, opening that as well. Julian could feel the warm, humid air wafting in, and it certainly tempted him to step inside. 

“You forgot this,” Garak offered, peeling the Trill-spotted printout from the depths of his suit lining. 

Julian had gone to sit on one of the sauna benches, low and cast from polished teak, laying out a damp towel and feeling ridiculous as he let it touch his suit. Surely it wouldn’t be right for him to strip anything off, while two of his friends were waving ancient paperwork in his face. 

Always at work, Garak seemed to sense this, and offered kindly to remove Julian’s coat, at least. He draped it over one of the ornate gold hooks drilled into the wall, then offered the Trill-spotted paper for Julian to study. 

“You did not miss much by refusing to read the program summary in advance,” Garak explained. 

“I had to research all of the languages,” Ezri added. “The code it came with wasn’t that interesting, and I had to add the final note myself.”

“What was the code, hmm? Every other letter, something like that?” Julian began rambling, trying not to get upset about the slight to his hobby; Ezri hadn’t intended it hurtfully. And it wasn’t as if  _ he  _ had written it himself. He sent away for it from someone he thought was a fellow expert, well-versed in the classics, tied to the original author in some distant but sentimental way. 

“It  _ is _ a cipher,” Garak said, removing his maroon jacket to reveal the rich emerald shirt underneath. “When re-organized, it presents a curious code from your planet’s history… The 1988 Act, I believe it was called.”

“I’m not familiar,” Julian admitted. 

“ _ Basically _ ,” Ezri said, sitting on Julian’s other side and rolling up her sleeves, “the author was letting us know that he didn’t actually know any of the stories and he couldn’t use the details because he didn’t own them. Some copyright thing, whatever that is.”

“I thought I’d cleared that with him,” Julian grumbled. “At the time, Earth had strict rules on sharing intellectual property. But it’s been  _ centuries  _ since the last one was published, I don’t understand.”

Ezri patted his arm. 

“So we thought we’d just… well, we were going to try and make up our own take on it, but we don’t know the setting as well as you do. You saw right through us,” she giggled, somewhat dejectedly. “I shouldn’t have broken character so soon, but I felt really weird about having all the other Daxes around.”

“But they don’t have any of Dax’s memories, or personality,” Julian assured, quoting Ezri’s claim from earlier in the program. “It was an interesting choice for the computer to make, actually, if your character was meant to have multiple personalities.”

Ezri shrugged. 

“The author didn’t provide any info on them, so that’s all the computer  _ could  _ do, I guess.”

“I wonder why not,” Julian mused. “I thought he was up to the task.”

Garak cleared his throat to get the attention of the others. 

“I did a small amount of reading,” he said, naturally building up to reveal that he had, in fact, read a  _ great deal _ on the subject. “Many of the earliest Cardassian legends are only preserved because they have been told and retold - performed and watched for hundreds of years. The State only keeps exact records of the stories which portray it favorably; if one wants to see a parody, they must rely on cults of street performers to interpret it for them. That’s why your mention of an affectionate update on your favorite story intrigued me, Doctor.”

“You didn’t  _ sound  _ intrigued, at first,” Julian muttered. 

“Counselor Dax gave me several compelling reasons to reconsider your invitation. Foremost, of course, was the costuming. I haven’t taken such a fun commission in years, Doctor. Frankly I’m quite tired of making funerary robes.”

“I hear you,” Ezri said, solemnly. 

“So you were right all along - I did need a reprieve. I’m sorry it didn’t last any longer.”

“Hmm,” Julian said, flaring his nostrils. “That one may be my fault. I thought something was genuinely wrong.”

“I don’t think it’s a complete loss, though,” Ezri interjected, with a smile. “We might as well make the most of it until it expires. Who cares about the story, right? I mean it’s nice just to relax with some friends after a stressful day. Get all dressed up, sit in a sauna?”

“That’s a fairly average day for the Cardassian elite, isn’t it, Garak?” Julian teased. “They put more clothes  _ on  _ before they go into their baths, it’s… quite charming, if I’m honest.”

“ _ Charming  _ is one of the worst insults I know, Doctor,” Garak smirked, but then boldly pressed his forehead to Julian’s; bickering was an important component of Cardassian courtship, but this gentle touch was exactly that: gentle. “Besides, I would hardly call someone of my own standing  _ elite _ .”

“You’re in good company,” Julian decided, steadying his gaze, meeting Garak’s, being  _ charmed  _ all over again by the fact Garak’s eyes were shut. 

“I’ll just, um…” Ezri could not figure out the phrasing she wanted, and she laughed, “I’ll just turn the Daxes back on. If we aren’t worried about the complete lack of plot, it’s not like they can distract from it.”

She formalized her request for the computer, and the hazy blue images returned all at once to the sauna room, as attendants. Floating was more natural to a Trill than learning to walk, so Ezri went to change her clothes behind a partition before eagerly wading into the warm water, wearing a tight but otherwise modest black swimsuit. She found herself surrounded by the computerized images of Jadzia and Audrid, offering to paint her fingernails and condition her hair, respectively. She agreed, and encouraged the others to join her. 

“Come on. It’s just some mindless fun.”

“I think that’s what we really needed all along,” Julian agreed, blushing slightly as he unbuttoned his shirt and requested his preferred swimwear from the computer. 

He strode bashfully to the same partition, calling out to Garak as a means of distracting himself from his nerves. 

“You can stay out of the water if you want to, Garak,” he said. “Stay and have a massage. We’ll get some hot stones and wet towels, I’m sure that--”

“Tobin,” Ezri called, gesturing to the place Garak was beginning, at last, to recline and let his guard down. “That man needs a massage even more than he needs his appointments with me.”

Tobin nodded and took the prompt, gathering the necessary stones from a cabinet installed in the wall, whistling with hot steam as he opened it and tried not to drop anything.

“Thank you,” Garak said, with a tinge of sarcasm. “And Doctor…?”

“Hmm?” Julian replied, folding his dress shirt carefully and hanging it over the partition. 

“I did appreciate the invitation. You were right… this is nothing short of  _ affectionate _ .”

“Thank you,” Julian echoed. “I’m so pleased both of you could make it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! This piece is written in response to a few things I've been feeling:  
> 1\. Ezri does not need to be removed from the picture for Garak and Julian to get together.   
> 2\. What do intellectual property laws look like in the future? Would we be lost without fanfiction? Some works might be lost entirely if not for the hard work of fan authors and artists, and this is a love letter to all my fellow creators.   
> 3\. Even if the source material is 'meh,' it's super fun to cosplay with your friends. 
> 
> And then...  
> \- With the exception of the title and a group of mostly naked people in a pool, I didn't take much from You Only Live Twice, but Julian isn't disappointed.   
> \- I've realized with this one that Ezri is almost always nauseous in my stories. I am always nauseous, myself, and like to have someone to suffer with. I gave her some of my medication for it this time, at least, right? She's a good girl.   
> \- I haven't written in a while and this was good fun, thank you for reading it.


End file.
